March 11, 2019

I have sometimes heard people say that they have no regrets about the life they’ve lived. I find it hard to believe that anyone could get through life without feeling “sad, repentant, or disappointed over something that has happened or been done, especially a lost or missed opportunity,” as one online dictionary defined regret. Maybe what people really mean when they deny having regrets is that they haven’t allowed their regrets to define or ruin their lives.

I was prompted to reflect upon the nature of regret as a result of my last blog post, “Now,” dated March 5. In that post I mentioned that my old friend Montgomery and I had traded amusing anecdotes about our mutual friend Sherman, an entertaining character now deceased. What I did not mention in that earlier entry is that Sherman, a charming and humorous fellow, was also an abuser of drugs and alcohol. When speaking of Sherman, Montgomery and I usually choose to remember the funny moments and sayings from his colorful life. But my March 5 essay triggered a bit of contrition in Montgomery, and he has given me permission to share the following remorseful comments that he emailed me in response to that earlier reminiscence:

“I enjoy remembering things that I now find amusing or somehow meaningful, but it works the other way too. As I grow older I am plagued by memories of times when I was less than kind or courageous toward others…I wish that I could go back and do over so many moments where I could have been encouraging to people rather than being passive, but it doesn’t work that way. To all the people who might have been less than human to me, I would like to say that ‘it’s cool, no hard feelings, and I wish you the best.’ I failed Sherman because I know there were times when I could have reached out to him and at least declared my regard for him or at least the part that was the intelligent, creative, and witty person I knew. The other part of Sherman, the drug and alcohol user, I deliberately avoided. One thing is for sure: it takes a hell of a lot of wisdom to be a human being.”

And here’s the email response that I sent to Montgomery:

“Yes, you’re right – it does take a hell of a lot of wisdom to be a human being. And part of that wisdom is to forgive ourselves and others for our/their shortcomings. We all fail ourselves and each other at various times in our lives – see my blog posts ‘Barbara’ dated January 24 and ‘Forgiveness’ dated February 2 of this year. But hopefully we learn from each lifetime and gradually evolve toward more compassion and courage by the end of each incarnation. Luckily we all get to have do-overs; they’re called reincarnation. I don’t know what lessons Sherman and Mike (another mutual friend with substance abuse problems) learned this time around, but I hope they will avoid addictions next time. At least you and I offered them friendship and a respite from their demons. Could we have done more? Maybe. But we did the best we could with our limited skills/understanding at that time. And we will meet them again, and may be able to be of more service to them (and others) on those occasions. And now that we’ve learned some lessons in regret, we can pay those lessons forward by being kind and encouraging toward whoever we encounter in our remaining years. Honinmyo (a Buddhist term meaning ‘from this moment on’).”

In other words, regrets are OK if they inform our now, rather than causing us to feel guilt about the past. Honinmyo means to live in the present moment.

So Sherman and Mike, may you both enjoy your now on your side of the veil, and Montgomery and I will do the same, here and now, on our side of the veil. Until we meet again.

March 5, 2019

Past and future veil God from our sight. Burn up both of them with fire. Rumi

I spend a lot of time thinking about the past or worrying about or living in the future. Not wise, I admit, but all too human. When I was young I dreamed a lot of a better future, and now that I’m, uh, no longer young, I spend more time remembering the past than I care to admit to myself or to you.

I was reminded of this tendency yesterday as I exchanged emails with my old friend Montgomery. We were trading stories about Sherman, one of our now deceased Buddhist buddies. Sherman was funny, creative, irreverent, and quick witted. As Montgomery tells it, in the 1970’s he and Sherman “went to see the The Godfather at a movie theater in Berkeley. It was a very violent film, and when the lights went on we were subjected to what was tantamount to a sermon by a young, long haired, and self righteous gentleman. He said, ‘Did you like that violence, people? Did you find that entertaining?’ Sherman was the only person to reply. He said, “Why did you wait until after the movie to tell us this?’ The whole place broke out in laughter, squelching the young man’s screed.”

I enjoy talking with Montgomery in person, by phone, and by email, because in addition to discussing our current lives and travels we speak fondly of current and departed friends. But it occurred to me that maybe he and I sometimes live too much in our shared past. On the other hand, if talking about Sherman makes us laugh and feel good in the present moment, what’s wrong with that? And his Godfather story about Sherman is a wonderful example of someone being so present that he could transform an awkward social moment into an opportunity to allow a theater full of people to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Sherman lit up the theater, thus enabling a number of people to share a moment of enlightenment.

Like most people in the developed world, I’m too damn busy. I need to slow down, breathe, and appreciate each moment. A little while ago I went out to the mailbox, and made a point of noticing the cool winter air, the fading daffodils, the bare trees, and the quiet of my rural neighborhood. I feel so good when I remember to take a few moments to breathe and to align myself with my inner stillness.

One of my best experiences of being truly present in the moment was sitting by my dad’s bedside as he lay dying. He had been in a coma for two days, and I got to be alone with him in his final hours until my two sisters rejoined us at the very end. He was a good man and a great father, and I was filled with appreciation for his love and support, as well as his peaceful death. As I sat next to him, listening to his slowing breathing, I kept hearing in my head a hauntingly beautiful song by Andrea Bocelli. I didn’t know the name of the song, but it somehow captured the poignancy of the moment as Dad and I did nothing but be together. I was sad to be losing him, but assured his sleeping, atheist self that we would meet again. And I was blessed and honored to be with him at the end of his life. I felt eternity and serenity in a way that I have rarely felt, as time stood still and Dad and I were together forever.

A few minutes ago I googled Andrea Bocelli to see if I could learn the name of the touching, uplifting, bittersweet song that was my farewell music with my dad. I was successful. The song: Time to Say Goodbye.

Sherman and my dad may be in my past. And yes, I have let them go. But they are also in my present. And I’m enjoying their company. Now.

March 1, 2019

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. Shakespeare, MacBeth.

There’s a part of me that craves power, status, and glory. And being aware of my own egocentric nature, my soul has wisely deprived me of the aphrodisiacs of power, status, and glory in this incarnation. But my ego is not happy about that deprivation. So it fantasizes about being an all powerful ruler.

Sometimes when I read or watch the news I’m so appalled by the state of the world that I imagine how I would fix everything if only I were Benevolent World Dictator. The job of President of the United States isn’t good enough for me, because I wouldn’t want to put up with a pesky Congress or the constraints of the judicial system. I want absolute power.

And that is why I feel that to some extent I understand the motivations of dictators like Kim Jong Un of North Korea, Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua, Nicholas Maduro of Venezuela, and authoritarian leaders such as Xi Jinping of China, Vladimir Putin of Russia, and Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey. Blinded by ambition and the need to control others, they probably believe that they know what’s best for their countries. Just like my ego believes that it would do a better job than those clowns in Washington. Not unlike some of the political rants I see on Facebook.

In other words, political leaders are not much different than you and me. That’s probably why some people including myself enjoy the TV series Game of Thrones or Shakespeare’s play MacBeth – we recognize that the fear, greed, treachery, and amoral behavior that we see on stage or screen is a reflection, consciously or unconsciously, of our own benighted condition. Or as New York Times columnist David Brooks wrote yesterday, “Trump, personifying the worst elements in our culture, is like a providentially sent gong meant to wake us up and direct us toward a better path.”

So yes, I intend to wake up, acquire more empathy and compassion, and continue on the path of oneness with the Christ/Buddha consciousness. But in the next election, just remember: Dave for Dictator! I think that has a nice ring to it, don’t you?

February 22, 2019

How much of our experience is determined by ourselves as individuals, and how much of our life is influenced or shaped by social forces beyond our control? Are we innocent victims or pawns on a chessboard, or are we the authors, consciously or unconsciously, of all that happens to us?

These are some of the questions that occurred to me yesterday after reading a New York Times article by Astead W. Herndon entitled “2020 Democrats Embrace Race-Conscious Policies, Including Reparations.”

“Senator Kamala Harris of California (said) that government reparations for black Americans were necessary to address the legacies of slavery and discrimination…’We have to be honest that people in this country do not start from the same place or have access to the same opportunities,’ she said. (Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts) also said she supports reparations for black Americans impacted by slavery – a policy that experts say could cost several trillion dollars , and one that Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders, and many top Democrats have not supported.”

There are a number of practical reasons why it is extremely unlikely that any reparations will ever be paid to African Americans: Where would the money come from? Who would be paid – long time residents only? Recent black immigrants? Would wealthy people such as Oprah Winfrey get a government check? How about mixed race people like Barack Obama – would he only get half a check? What about American Indians – should they be compensated for the taking of their land? Women and Jews have suffered discrimination – what about them? How do we measure who deserves what, if anything, from the government?

I agree with Kamala Harris that “people in this country do not start from the same place or have access to the same opportunities.” That is true the world over. And while I would agree that government, charities, and individuals should help those who are less fortunate if they are able to do so, there are many reasons for inequality besides discrimination, including poor health, dysfunctional families, alcohol and drug addiction, and other personal circumstances or choices.

And there’s another reason for inequality in the world. It’s called karma.

Thomas Jefferson was right: All men are created equal. But we are not equally wise, talented, or fortunate. In my view, our souls choose different circumstances in order to learn and evolve. One might choose a life of poverty in one lifetime, and a life of great wealth in the next. Or select the body of a Chinese male this time around, and a Peruvian female next time. In addition to choices of gender, nationality, ethnicity, and class, I think that we also choose our parents, health, and other factors that influence the quality of our lives. But as we live our various incarnations, we make decisions about how to behave and how to treat other people, and those decisions, intentions, and behaviors have consequences, or karma, that influences the trajectory of our lives.

In other words, what goes around comes around. We are not innocent victims of other people’s actions. We create our own justice.

That doesn’t mean that we have to be passive in the face of abuse. Even if our karma has attracted negative energy or people, we have the right to stand up for ourselves. But ultimately, we are responsible for our attitudes, conduct, and happiness, and if other people treat us badly, that is their karma for which they will reap the result.

I don’t believe in the politics of resentment, blame, and recrimination, though I certainly understand the desire and need to address social issues where there is imbalance and suffering. But I would rather focus on appreciating the people who are doing good in the world, and make whatever positive contribution I can to planetary awakening and harmony.

As the architect of my life, I owe it to myself and to others to be a wise, responsible creator of my world. And to have fun while doing it.

February 18, 2019

The sun is shining, and it’s a beautiful clear day. After days of rain, we’re in for a week of good weather. It’s wintertime, and the livin’ is easy. Except when it ain’t.

In spite of all the things I have to be grateful for – excellent health, good family, lots of friends, enough money, pretty surroundings – for the last few days I’ve been experiencing a winter of discontent. And I’m not sure why. Oh, I had a mostly good day yesterday, hiking with some friends and dinner with others. And today is off to a good start. But something is troubling me on one level or another, and I’d like to figure out what it is so that I can heal the pain and move on. Maybe I’ll figure it out, and maybe I won’t. But at least I need to try.

I’ve managed to keep up a cheerful front, so I don’t think that anyone else has noticed my anger, irritability, impatience, or cynicism. I’ve kept it to myself as much as possible, as I usually do. That’s one of the advantages of living alone – no one has to hear my private rants. But last night I confessed to myself the frustrations that I’ve been feeling, and asked my higher power for help. I awakened this morning with the following dreams: 

Inside a very large community tipi, I saw many young Lakota people preparing for a stage reenactment of the Wounded Knee massacre. I was intrigued to note that Indian boys were dressed as cavalry soldiers, and was curious to watch and listen as they portrayed the killers of their own people. But there was noise from other conversations in the tipi, so I moved closer to hear the kids better as they rehearsed their lines…Walking with a young woman, I offered her encouragement for which she was very grateful. I asked her to pay it forward to someone else…As I awakened, I heard the words and tune to a song: “Oh, the flowers that I know best, are the flowers in my own chest.” I saw yellow daffodils in full bloom sprouting from my chest.

As a sometime student of dreams, I know that all the people in the dreams, from the Lakota kids to the young woman, are aspects of myself. And as someone who has visited the South Dakota site of the Wounded Knee massacre, I know the sad history of that 1890 event. I suspect that the soldiers represent my own killer or shadow side, the anger within me. But I’m gratified to note that the dreams ended on a positive note, with something lovely emerging from my heart. The flower image is reminiscent of the Buddhist symbol of the lotus flower which blooms from the mud at the bottom of a swamp. My shadow may be the mud, but the daffodils are a sign of hope that my ugly nature may produce something good after all.

Wishful thinking? Possibly. I’m reminded of my friend Julie, who once joked that her spiritual practice was “Maintenance Buddhism: it keeps you feeling good, while everything around you crumbles.” It could be that these dreams are a form of whistling past the graveyard, keeping up my spirits in the face of fears of a darker reality. But even if that’s the case, so what? Maybe my higher self answered my prayers, and maybe it didn’t. All I know is that I feel better today than I have for the last few days.

I think I’ll take my shadow out for a walk in the sunshine. It’s a beautiful day.

February 16, 2019

What is real, and what is fiction?

I just finished reading A Discovery of Witches, the first novel in a trilogy by USC history professor Deborah Harkness. Set in contemporary England, France, and New York, the well written story features positive and negative versions of vampires, witches, daemons, and magic in a modern world where most beings are human. It’s not the kind of book I usually read, but I read a good review of it somewhere and sure enough, it’s entertaining, escapist, yet grounded in history and science.

I’ve met self-described witches before, though they have no magical powers. I don’t believe in vampires or daemons. But beliefs that may seem outlandish to you or me are entirely credible to millions and even billions of people. Many Christians and Muslims believe in devils and a god who hates gay people. Other people think that climate change is a hoax, or that trickle down economics will lead to prosperity for all. Politics can be a surreal mixture of competing interpretations of reality.

I respect science because it’s based upon experimentation and observation. Yet some scientists can be narrow-minded and dogmatic in their beliefs. And my sense of truth tells me that there is way more to life than science has been able to discover. Or to quote Prince Hamlet, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

My Irish ancestors were delightfully creative when it came to imagining alternate realities. Often based upon superstition or fear as much as wonder and mystery, Irish fairies are not of the Tinkerbell variety. From the cranky Leprechaun (shoemaker) and trickster Far Darrig (Red Man) to the scary Banshee (female herald of death) or Dullahan (headless horseman) to shapeshifters and the sociable trooping fairies, they are said to be the keepers of Tir na nOg (Land of Eternal Youth). I’ve written about three of these magical creatures myself (see the Irish children’s stories tab at the top of this page). Even today, the Irish still protect raths (fairy forts) and fairy trees around their island. They may not believe in fairies anymore, but they respect what they do not know. That’s why in olden times they did not call them by their proper name, Daoine Sidhe (Fairy People), but rather referred to them by honorific titles: the Gentry, or sometimes the Daoine Maithe (the Good People).

Do I believe in life after death? Definitely. Souls? For sure. Heaven? Yep. Hell and devils? Hell no. Angels and the Good People? Maybe. I think that a positive attitude and appreciation are forms of magic, and that one can conjure good fortune by intending to do so through love and kindness.

What is real, and what is fiction, to you?

February 13, 2019

I woke up with two songs in my head this morning. But only one of them is still haunting me.

The first song that came to me was a song we all know:

Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily,  merrily, life is but a dream. 

It’s a song about not taking life too seriously. When I went to bed last night I had three things that were bothering me, and this song could be a message from some level of my consciousness reminding me to lighten up.

But then, as I lay in bed on this rainy day off from work, another song occurred to me, one not so cheerful as the first. Any Day Now is a song that I recently rediscovered, a song written by Burt Bacharach and Bob Hilliard in 1962. Many artists have recorded it, including Elvis Presley and Ronnie Milsap, but my favorite version is the original by Chuck Jackson:

Any day now I will hear you say, “Goodbye my love,” and you’ll be on your way. Then my wild beautiful bird, you will have flown, oh, any day now I’ll be all alone, whoa.

It’s a song about the fear of losing a lover, and while it’s beautifully performed on keyboard by Bacharach and vocally by Jackson in a 1965 video (google Any Day Now Chuck Jackson youtube), it manages to be both upbeat and depressing at the same time.

I’m not sure why this song popped into my head when it did. Maybe because it’s a rainy, gloomy day. But it stirred up memories of my last girlfriend, a beautiful bird who flew away after a brief romance two and a half years ago. Listening to Any Day Now allows me to indulge briefly in self pity: Boo hoo hoo, poor me, she done gone and left me. Thanks a lot, Chuck. I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, but I guess it’s OK every once in a while. Singing the blues is good therapy sometimes. I just don’t want to get stuck there.

Besides, I choose to believe that even loss can be a good teacher, though it certainly doesn’t feel that way at the time. Part of me still feels sad at the loss of that last relationship, maybe because I had known her since junior high school, which also happens to be when I first heard Any Day Now. And maybe that’s why that song is still haunting me now. But I trust that my higher power is leading me on the right path and that my ex-girlfriend’s inner being is guiding her in the right direction too. Well, OK, maybe her inner being screwed up by leaving me, but who said our intuition is perfect?

I’d rather row my boat gently and merrily than row while bemoaning my fate. But for today, Any Day Now is my theme song. Do check it out on youtube. Chuck Jackson is elegant and touching, although the 1965-era lighting on his black skin isn’t what it should be.

For the rest of my days, Row row row your boat is my song of choice. And merry is my path of choice in this dream life.

February 9, 2019

Two days ago I was in the mountainside forest home of a composer, discussing American history. Yesterday I was in a small apartment in a public housing project talking about the differences between Mexican and American cultures. Two interesting families, good people all, living 20 minutes apart yet inhabiting very different realities.

I can’t reveal the names of the people I met or their two communities for reasons of confidentiality. In my capacity as a bilingual field interviewer for a social science research company, I meet all kinds of people in the course of conducting national surveys. What I can say is that I work mostly in the San Francisco Bay Area, and I knock on a lot of doors in wealthy, middle class, and poor neighborhoods.

“Ryan,” the middle aged white composer and his mixed race professor wife, are creative and accomplished professionals, world travelers, and by all appearances at least are living happy, fulfilled lives in a beautiful, upscale community.

“Eduardo” was shot and paralyzed on the streets of a big Mexican city. Now confined to a wheelchair and a legal immigrant, he lives with his loving and supportive family in a county-subsidized apartment building in an unpleasant neighborhood in a nearby city. While Eduardo was answering questions on my laptop, I hung out with his brother “Maurilio,” who helped me gain an appreciation of the lives that his family is living.

Eduardo, Maurilio and their mother live together in the apartment, and Eduardo has an affectionate girlfriend who was there during my visit. Maurilio’s job supports the family while Eduardo receives food stamps, subsidized (but not free) housing, and free health care through Medi-Cal (Medicaid). But there are other family members who live nearby, and they are all close and help each other. Maurilio said that unlike his white friends, he can’t imagine going for more than a week without seeing his other siblings and extended family members. They are his best friends. When I mentioned that white people tend to be more independent of their families, he laughed and pantomimed white parents kicking their kids out of the nest.

In my family, we love each other, but wouldn’t want to live under the same roof again. If I became disabled, my family would be helpful, but they would never let me live with them – I’d have to have a caregiver or live in a home for the disabled. In American culture we’ve lost to varying degrees the close family bonds that the Mexicans still have.

But Maurilio stated that his family is really glad that they’re in the Bay Area. In Mexico there is so much corruption at all levels of society. He mentioned that the guy who shot Eduardo got out of jail after a couple years, and the lawyers and hospital they used took their money but did nothing for them. Drunk drivers routinely bribe cops, meaning that drunks can drive with impunity, endangering everyone else. Maurilio added, “Just try bribing an American cop and see what happens,” and made a motion of his throat being cut.

Life in the housing project is less than ideal. They had cockroaches recently, but the management took care of the problem. Their black neighbors are noisy and don’t respect designated parking spaces, but Maurilio and Eduardo have learned to be flexible and communicate with their neighbors whenever a problem arises, so they get along more or less. The police get called often to the project, but so far Eduardo and family haven’t been affected by the crime.

Which life would I rather lead – Ryan’s, or Eduardo’s? The former, of course. Ryan and his wife enjoy abundance, beauty, and an easier lifestyle. But other than his paralysis, I don’t feel sorry for Eduardo or his family. They are better off now than they were in Mexico, and they are grateful for what they have and for each other. Ryan and his wife are the haves, and Eduardo and family are the have nots, but even the have nots have love.

February 4, 2019

What would happen if we were to accept all the social and personal changes that we don’t like?

I’m not happy about population growth, traffic, the proliferation of guns in our culture, the spread of nuclear weapons, racial tensions, climate change, or war. But so what? Is my agonizing about those issues helping to solve the problems?

I appreciate the opportunity to live in a democracy where people are free to express their opinions or ideas. But problem solving is one thing; ranting and fretting are horses of a different color. There’s too much anger and fear being expressed in the public sphere. And sometimes there’s too much anger and fear being felt within me.

So what if I were to accept, for example, climate change, rather than resisting it? The world would continue to get warmer, whether I liked it or not, but at least I wouldn’t suffer while it’s gradually heating up. Sure, I would continue to recycle, conserve energy, and vote for candidates who agree to enact policies to reduce greenhouse gases. But at least I would be free to enjoy whatever time I have left on this planet without despairing about its future.

What if, in the grand scheme of things, it’s OK for the human race to die out, for elephants and tigers and whales to become extinct, for coral reefs to disappear? What if change, and loss, are OK? And even if change and loss are not OK, what if we accept them with grace and compassion?

Many years ago I was diligent in keeping a dream journal, and was pleasantly surprised by the creativity of my imagination while asleep. One dream I remember not for its narrative, but for its message. It featured two high school classmates of mine whose last names were Fine and DeKay. I puzzled over why those two girls had been selected by my unconscious mind to be in the dream story. Then it hit me: decay is fine. In other words, don’t worry, be happy. Then, as now, I had a tendency to carry the world’s problems on my shoulders, and my unconscious mind was telling me to relax and lighten up. I don’t need to control or fix the world. And maybe it isn’t broken. Maybe everything is Fine the way it is.

In high school I kept the following quote on my desk:

There are only two things to worry about: either you are well or you are sick. If you are well, then there is nothing to worry about. If you are sick, then there are only two things to worry about: either you will get better, or you will die. If you get better, then there is nothing to worry about. If you die, then there are only two things to worry about: either you will go to heaven, or you will go to hell. If you go to heaven, then there is nothing to worry about. If you go to hell, you’ll be so damn busy shaking hands with friends, you won’t have time to worry!

What if we were to dread less, and laugh more? I intend to find out.

February 2, 2019

When is it appropriate to forgive someone? Should a person be branded for a lifetime for youthful mistakes?

These are a couple of the questions that have occurred to me over the last two days as I’ve read about a current political controversy. Virginia Governor Ralph Northam is being pressured to resign after admitting to one and possibly two incidents of appearing in blackface in 1984, when he was about 25 years old. One occasion happened at a dance contest, and another was a photo in his medical school yearbook.

Governor Northam has apologized for the offensive events. Should he resign? I don’t know, but he will almost certainly have to do so. Yet an important question needs to be asked: Has he changed his racial insensitivity in the last 35 years? By all accounts a progressive Democrat on civil rights matters, he has indeed changed. But in the current political climate, it may not matter.

If the governor had committed these acts a year ago, or even five years ago, I would say that he has to go. But 35 years ago? Can we realistically expect politicians, and each other, to be so perfect all of the time? Are we not allowed to outgrow our youthful indiscretions, or even our mature adult mistakes?

It’s not my place to forgive Northam. I’ll leave that for African Americans to decide, as they are the ones who would have felt any pain from his blackface stereotypes.

I myself am not always so forgiving. I have held my share of grudges, although I do seem to let them go eventually. One reason I try to forgive others is that I’m painfully aware of my own insensitivities to others on occasion (see my January 24 blog post about Barbara). Another reason is that I simply feel better when I let go of anger, bitterness, or resentment. I don’t know whether I’d be able to forgive someone who murdered a family member or close friend. I hope so, but I just don’t know, and I hope I never have to find out.

When I was in high school I was bullied my entire sophomore year by Bob, a guy who was a year older and bigger than me. He abused me physically, psychologically, and emotionally. I hated him, and fantasized about killing him. I even thought about bringing a knife to school to stab him (this was well before anyone thought of bringing guns to school). I never told anyone about the abuse, but I never forgot it either. Many years later I decided to forgive him. I reasoned that he was 16 at the time, and just a stupid kid, so I should let go of my hate and heal myself and move on.

Then, at my 45th high school reunion, Bob showed up. He wasn’t in our class, but came because he had friends who were. I debated whether or not to speak to him, let alone confront him about his past misdeeds. What if he got defensive, or continued with his past ridicule of me? Would I get angry and bitter all over again? Would this just reopen old wounds?

I decided to face my past. I asked him if we could speak privately. Then I calmly reminded him of what had transpired between us 45 years ago. To my surprise and disappointment, he didn’t remember a school year’s worth of bullying! But to his credit, he listened carefully, and then apologized profusely and sincerely for having been such a jerk. I told him that I had forgiven him long ago, but even so it was healing to hear him take responsibility for all the suffering he had caused me. And it was healing for me to risk an ugly encounter in order to stand up for my 15 year old self.

I don’t believe that there is always justice in a given lifetime. But I do believe that, over many lifetimes, what goes around comes around. And if I can practice forgiveness now, maybe I can earn the right to be forgiven for my transgressions. Even if others don’t forgive me, maybe I can learn to forgive myself.